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Back One Winter Morning Save as PDF
Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. By the same author
  4. Dedication
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. Acknowledgements
  54. Read More
  55. Two Years Later
  56. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

‘In you get, folks,’ he says, nodding at each of them as they clamber into their seats. Bringing up the rear is a teenage girl with a spread of wiry dark hair and a puppy in her arms the colour of apricots. She seems a bit unsteady on her feet, as if she’s wearing shoes two sizes too big, and the same burly man offers her an arm so that she can lever herself up into the passenger seat more easily.

I know from a Google search at the café this morning that Koru Stables is in Glenorchy, which is close to Queenstown, but not close enough to risk bumping into my errant parent on the street. That element of distance had comforted me until now, and my plan was to spend a few days acclimatising before finding my way to the yard. I definitely did not expect to come across someone who is presumably a member of staff from the stables before I was ready, and now it feels as if the rug of perceived security has been yanked out from under me. All I can do is watch, open-mouthed and immobile, as the man steering the van toots its horn and drives away.

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7

As soon as the minibus disappears from view, I’m struck with a powerful urge to run after it. I picture myself tearing along the pavement in my sandals, ducking in and out of backpackers, my hand raised while I shout for the driver to stop and let me on.

I am being ridiculous.

But then, perhaps I should go to the stables now? Get the whole uncomfortable encounter with my birth mother over with?

Buoyed by a sudden flush of courage, I hurry to the rank of idle taxis on the main road and practically throw myself into the back seat of one.

‘Koru Stables, Paradise Valley, please,’ I say, and the driver turns, eyeing my dress.

‘Do you want to get changed first?’ he asks. ‘I can run you to your hotel on the way?’

‘No, thanks,’ I reply, my words rushing out across his. ‘I’m not going there to ride, so don’t worry.’

This seems to satisfy him, but I register definite confusion on his face as he puts the car into gear and drives us out of Queenstown. I sit quietly, taking one deep breath after another to steady myself, but when we reach the highway to the right of the lake, I begin to baulk.